


When You Smile At The Ground It Ain't Hard To Tell

by starsandgutters



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Crack, Fluff, Gen, Kinda?, M/M, Pining, Pre-Slash, Team Free Will, as I type these tags it reads like kind of a lousy birthday gift, there that makes it a little better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 12:14:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2621306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandgutters/pseuds/starsandgutters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dean and Castiel have very different ideas about pop culture, and Sam is basically a saint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When You Smile At The Ground It Ain't Hard To Tell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FangedAngel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FangedAngel/gifts).



> This was written for Yasmine, who likes destiel, pining, and One Direction.
> 
> Have a wonderful birthday, my dear! ♥

Dean pulls the Impala up to the crime scene with a feeling of dread. Perhaps it’s the fact that it’s a rainy day, overcast sky settling a gloom over the small rural town; or perhaps it’s the fact that this will be the first time he sees Cas since… well.

Since he was a demon and Cas had to restrain him by force of arms and grace. Since he was cured through a hundred injections of human blood, Sam and Cas looking at him warily, as if he was a bomb about to go off, or a dangerous animal who hadn’t fed yet. Since he’d told Cas  _I’m glad you’re here_ , and Cas‒ Cas had left without a word.

Dean doesn’t know why he was surprised in the first place. Cas was barely ever able ‒ willing? ‒ to stick around for a long time  _before._  Why would he want to hang out with Dean now, after he was just recently a friggin’ Knight of Hell?

Dean wouldn’t wanna hang out with himself either.

He casts a covert look at the passenger seat, but Sam’s face is smooth, expression focused on the case at hand. It’s nothing too hard, your basic flesheating gig ‒ they figure either a rougarou or a ghoul ‒ but ever since they saw that weird little musical, it’s like both he and Sam have a newfound appreciation for old-fashioned, run-of-the-mill monster cases. Dean would almost call it nostalgia.

“You okay?” Sam asks, noticing his discomfited look.

“Yeah, I’m super. Let’s get going.”

Castiel is already at the crime scene, standing next to a disgruntled police officer, and waves when he spots them walking towards him. Dean can’t help the small jab of satisfaction when he notices Hannah is nowhere in sight.

Look, it isn’t as if he’s bitter that Cas and Hannah have been travelling around together, hunting down rogue angels and stuff. He’s  _not._  It’s just that… he’s not used to Cas having a partner in crime that isn’t, well. Him. Or Sam, at most. Or perhaps it has to do with the memory of Cas walking out of his room, straight-backed,  all “there’s a  _female_  in the car outside”and  _holy fuck_ , when did Dean turn into a teenage girl?

This is fine. This is great. Hell, he’s  _happy_  if Cas cuts himself a little slice of angel food cake. Really. Even if it means he has to basically dump Dean to do it‒ and okay,  _fine_ , so maybe he  _is_  a little bitter about it. But Cas had been the one to spot the hunt and call them in on it, and his borrowed grace is already fading again, fast enough that he can’t get rid of this flesh-eating mook just by smiting it.

Cas called, so, sure, Sam and Dean will help. How can they not? Cas is family.

“Agent,” Sam grins in Cas’s direction, as Dean gives him and the police officer a brisk nod.

Castiel smiles a little, nodding back. “It’s good to see you guys.” Then he turns to the policeman, and his voice slips into formal mode, all warmth gone.

“Agent Brennan, these are my colleagues, agents Styles and Malik,” he explains, pointing to Dean and Sam in succession.

Before Dean can even frown at the unfamiliar names, he hears Sam choking on spit by his side. A quick glance confirms that Sam looks entirely flabbergasted, which is both worrying and hilarious, but unfortunately the questions will have to wait.

Dean extends a hand to officer Brennan, who shakes it firmly, even though he appears to be trying hard to suppress a small smirk. “Welcome, agents. I wasn’t expecting to see the FBI get involved, but agent Tomlinson here tells me you’ve had a case like this over in Minnesota?”

Sam makes another strangled noise, and Dean has to subtly elbow him in the ribs, because  _really?_  They’re supposed to be  _professionals._

 

* * *

 

They drive back to the motel later, Sam and Dean in the Impala, and Cas following in what Dean has affectionately mind-dubbed the pimpmobile.

“Dude. You wanna explain what the hell was going on back there? You straight up  _choked._ ”

“Well… um, it’s nothing, I guess‒ I just…” Sam has the good grace to look flustered, if nothing else. “I just‒ wasn’t expecting the names, you know? Though, I suppose it makes sense. I mean, he  _did_  go with Spears and Aguilera last time.” Sam snorts, embarrassment fading into amusement.

“Oh, crap. Don’t tell me he chose teenyboppery singers again,” Dean mutters. He turnes around to find Sam staring incredulously at him.

“Oh my God, Dean, how have you  _not_  heard of One Direction? I swear it’s like you live under a rock sometimes.”

“How have  _you_  heard of him? Do you have a stash of Teen Vogue hidden with your porn?”

“It’s not a ‘him’, it’s a boy band.”

“Oh, my bad, Sammy. That totally makes sense that you’d know them then,” Dean drawls sarcastically. “And here I thought you’d grown out of your N’Sync phase.”

“Cut it out, Dean,” Sam eyerolls. “I’m not  _into_  them, okay, but it’s kinda hard not to notice them when they’re all over the media. They’re like the new big thing, so I guess Cas figured we’d like them too. Like he did with Britney.”

“Awesome,” Dean groans, resisting the temptation to faceplant into the steering wheel. “That really gives us credibility as friggin’ FBI agents.”

Sam chuckles in agreement, looking out of the window to the rain that just started to fall again. After a pause, he turns to Dean again.

“Did you seriously not know anything about them?”

“Oh c’mon‒  _really?_  Excuse me for not keeping up with the Top 40, Sam, it’s just that, you know, I listen to _good_  music,” Dean splutters defensively (and for chrissakes,  _why_  is he even getting defensive over  _pop music_?).

“You listen to the same four albums over and over, Dean,” Sam corrects wryly. “And it has nothing to do with good music, just, you know. I thought pop culture was your  _thing_.”

“Shut your face. Anyway, we’re here,” Dean deflects, pulling into the motel parking lot.

Sam opens his mouth as if to say something else, then seems to think better of it. They have a case to work, after all.

 

* * *

 

The case turns out to be as easy as foreseen. They track down the creature ‒ it’s a ghoul, not a rougarou ‒ and take it down, all while barely breaking a sweat. The evening after Dean and Sam rolled into town sees them at the local bar with Castiel, sharing celebratory beers.

It’s only when Dean leaves to go order some tequila shots that Sam gives Castiel ‒ truth be told, a slightly tipsy Castiel ‒ a searching look.

“So,” he says in a casual tone that is anything but casual, “One Direction.”

“Yes.” Castiel blinks. “Hannah bought a magazine while we were on the road, because it was sold with a crunchie and she needed to tie back her hair. She didn’t want the magazine so she gave it to me.”

“Scrunchie,” Sam corrects automatically. “But yeah, that makes sense.”

“They are very popular musicians, so I thought they would fit in well with Dean’s and yours pattern,” Castiel reasons, and this is it, this is the moment when Sam should tell him that no, they don’t do this, it’s rock aliases only, and if Cas picks Taylor Swift next time Dean will probably blow a gasket… but he doesn’t.

Instead, he clears his throat. He’s probably reading too much into this ‒ he  _knows_  he is ‒ but if he doesn’t ask, this will keep him up tonight just out of sheer dumb curiosity.

“Was it one of those gossip mags that like to speculate? On, um, like‒ the relationships between band members?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Castiel replies quickly, rubbing his neck in a suspiciously stiff way.

_Ah. Of course._

“Nevermind. I’ve spent too much time on the internet, probably.” Sam smiles, taking a swig of beer. “So how’d you assign the names? Gotta say, I like being the mysterious exotic one.”

Castiel shrugs, still a little embarrassed. “Oh, I just picked the ones that seemed more popular.”

“Hmm.” Sam nods noncommittally. Over at the bar, Dean is chatting up the waitress pouring the shots. Castiel seems to have noticed too, and knocks back the rest of his beer with a strangely wistful sigh. He holds onto the empty bottle, fingers tapping an absent rhythm.

“The one with the curly hair…” he starts, then seems to think better of it, shaking his head and looking down at the table.

“Harry Styles?” Sam prompts after a moment, because it doesn’t seem like Cas is going to break the silence. “What about him?”

Castiel hesitates, darting another glance at the bar in what, Sam supposes, he thinks is a subtle way.

“His eyes are very green,” Cas says, quiet enough that Sam almost misses it, forlorn enough to make Sam’s chest tighten a little with realization. Before Sam can even think of what to say, Dean’s coming back with the shots, and they lapse back into the familiar lull of all the things they don’t talk about. And if Dean’s laughter is a little forced, and Castiel’s eyes linger a little too long on his face, well, Sam pretends not to notice, because three can play at this game.

Honestly, he’s not paid  _nearly_  enough for this.


End file.
